


ROARING 20s

by februaryfridays



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Artists, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-05 03:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/februaryfridays/pseuds/februaryfridays
Summary: 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴,𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘴.Daniel Howell is a hedonist. He has his life planned out - booze, money, and a house that's never empty. He hides in his own crowds, trying to live a life unnoticed. Daniel Howell, meet Phil Lester; London artist, down on his luck, notices every last face in the crowd.





	1. race to the suburbs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostsouldan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostsouldan/gifts).



> this fic is dedicated to my waifu noah without whom the concept for this fic wouldn't even exist - thank u for yelling at me to write this and for letting me annihilate u at cup pong every day <3

In short, Daniel Howell was somewhat of an asshole. 

If anybody knew him well enough to say for certain, then they also knew better than to actually  _ say  _ that kind of thing about him, but it was the truth. Subsequently, most of said people, were the same people whose wallets got heavier the second they met him. 

That’s how the Howells had always dealt – buying for themselves whatever life hadn’t already handed to them on a silver platter. 

Dan wasn’t necessarily a  _ bad  _ or unpleasant person; few people around him would consider him as such, but there’s only so much power you can have until you become more the selfish bastard that people say you are.

And as it happened – he may or may not have been proving himself to be just that, only doing what he does best. 

“Do I know you?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe and doing the least to conceal the obvious sneer on his face. His guest – a woman in her early twenties, one of those flapper kinds – seemed to pick up on his judgement immediately, and sat up straight. 

“Mr. Howell, yes, you- ah, you invited me over last week. Bethany, from the golf club?” She flashed a quick smile that Dan didn’t bother to return. 

“Ah,  _ Bethany _ . Okay. Well, you’re early.” 

“You can call me Betty.” He nodded stiffly, eyes following her as she all but pranced towards him, offering a hand to shake.

“ _ Bethany _ . Feel free to wait in here or in the conservatory, I’m sure you can entertain yourself until others have arrived.”

“ _ Others _ ?”

“It wouldn’t be much of a party with just the two of us.” Dan shrugged, his face stony as Betty giggled. “If you were under the impression that I’d invite only  _ you  _ over, then you were mistaken, I’m afraid.” Her face fell, and he shrugged again, backing out of the room slightly.

“How many more people, exactly?”

“Enough.” He nodded and ducked out of the room, sighing heavily as he rounded the corner. 

“Leave the front door open, would you?” He called after a maid in the hallway. “I’m expecting just a few more guests.”

 

Hours later and after a while of moping and musing, Dan had one ulterior motive – to drink so much at this godforsaken party that he wouldn’t have to remember the names or faces of the anonymous bystanders in his house. Every night like this was a blur to him – so much so that he couldn’t remember the name of every Tom, Dick or Betty even if he actually  _ wanted  _ to. 

In his earlier London days, it had been surreal, the idea of everybody knowing who you are when you couldn’t even recall the first names of any of them, but he’d gotten used to this quickly. And he couldn’t help but pick up on the fact that this had an alarming side effect of big-headedness; a notion that seemed increasingly easy to ignore as the days passed by. 

For the last three years, every weekend for Dan had been a whirlwind of music and booze and everything in-between, filled with empty conversations and boring people with egos in place of personalities. His house was constantly louder than his thoughts. That was how he liked it. 

He was trapped in one of those boring conversations at that moment – though  _ trapped  _ was like far too loose a term for something like this, as he acted with such a feigned importance that him slipping from the conversation at any time would be accepted by most. 

Some country club owner with eyebrows too big for his face was currently droning on about golf and its effects on our economy as a country and how the new generation are killing off the golfing industry. Dan nodded along, learning more about the modern pensioner’s inability to shut up than he was learning about golf greens. 

“Hm. That is most interesting, Henry.” Dan nodded, picking a champagne flute from the tray of the nearest butler. “Say, why don’t you tell my good friend, um, Stanley about that golf theory of yours? Very enlightening.” 

So maybe he  _ wasn’t  _ really trapped in every conversation that he was in, but it certainly did feel like that at the best of times. As he sidled away from Henry and his damned golfing lecture, he gave himself the luxury of a heavy eye roll and a second or two to stand out on the balcony – the one place where the mass of partygoers was almost certainly scarce.

The cold breeze was harsh against the layer of sweat on his forehead, and he stepped out of view from the French doors; the last thing he wanted to do was to draw all of the attention to the one place where he could be alone. 

 

It wasn’t like he particularly  _ disliked  _ other people, but it was more that he had a preference of being alone. And that was where the irony lay – why surround yourself with people when you’d rather be alone? And the answer to that, Dan had decided, after many nights like this; was that it’s really rather easy to hide in plain sight this way. Those who lived in isolation often raised concern and interest from others around them – people would become worried about the social recluse who talks to nobody. Living like a hedonist, though fruitless, was superior in that nobody he’d come across in his time had truly cared for intimacy or friendship or anything else that he’d ever thought to be important. If you asked Dan Howell what role he played in everybody’s lives, he’d tell you that people needed him for his money, his grandeur and his sheer ability to throw an absolutely  _ phenomenal  _ party. A notion that many like him wouldn’t be quite as quick to point out about themselves, but undeniably true. 

Huffing, Dan reached to fumble in his pockets for a cigarette, but was interrupted by his own reaction to the door beside him being swung open. He looked up with a start, and looked back down again upon seeing that it was that Bethany character from earlier. 

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Howell! Just the man I was looking for!”  _ She’s drunk,  _ he thought, nodding in what he hoped was a somewhat polite fashion. “I’ve been searching for you all night, y’know?” 

“I suppose you’re glad you found me, then.” He tried to send a small smile her way, almost certain that it passed better as a grimace. 

“Ab-so-lutely!” She sang. “Now listen, I was thinking we c–” She stopped talking then, which took Dan a second to realise as he hadn’t been listening much to begin with. The French doors were pushed open again, this time noticeably less violently. 

“Betty, there’s a Mr. Something asking about for you, that one chap with the teeth.” Says the opener of the door. Dan takes this moment to continue fumbling around his pockets for his matches, not bothering to look up at the new addition to their balcony party. Hopefully this Mr. Something of Betty’s would whisk away madam and her new friend and leave Dan the hell alone for just a  _ few  _ more moments.

She whines something about Mr. Whatever and pushes past whoever else to get back into the house, leaving Dan with another stranger who’d soon likely get back to whoever he was already bothering. 

After a second more of rattling around his pockets, Dan called quits and looked up at Betty’s secretary or whatever, opening his mouth to ask for a damned match or a lighter or  _ something _ .

If there was then a brief second in which Dan forgot how to speak, then he likely wouldn’t admit it. 

It passed by soon enough, and there was another moment of silence after Dan had asked this stranger a simple question. 

“They’re not good for you, those cigarettes.” This man nodded towards Dan’s hand, which was clutching a cigarette case only a tad too tightly.

“I asked for a cigarette lighter, not your opinion.” Dan said, immediately wincing at how harsh that had sounded out loud.

“Well  _ you’re  _ a charmer.” The man said, holding out his hand. “Phillip Lester, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“If you’d met me before, you’d know about it. Daniel Howell.”

“Charming  _ and  _ humble. I  _ do  _ know your name, you know.”

“No surprise there, then.”

“You’re not the most polite person, y’know?”

“Were you expecting otherwise?”

“Considering how highly everybody around here talks about you, I was.”

“What do people say about me?”

“A number of things.”

Dan huffed.

“Like  _ what?” _

Phil shrugged.

“A lot of people say a lot of things. I wouldn’t dare to repeat some of them, though.” Phil had a glint in his eye once he’d gauged Dan’s reaction – he’d quickly found some kind of power to hold over him, even if just for a few moments.

“It hardly matters to me anyway.” Dan shrugged, taking the more mature route rather than stomping his foot like he wanted to. 

“I don’t like to participate in gossip.” Phil added, watching Dan’s expression change slowly. 

“Good thing I don’t either.”

“All right.”

“All  _ right.”  _

 

There was a second or two of silence, one in which Dan found himself looking this young man up and down – using the moment of tension to decide whether this  _ Phil Lester  _ was worth the effort of acquainting or not.  _ Cheap suit _ , he noticed, with a hint of disappointment, _ but holds himself quite well _ .

_ Kinder than most people, too. _

_ Dan would keep that in mind. _

“Are you from around here?” Dan asked, returning his gaze to the man’s face.

“Not originally. I moved from up North just recently – you see, I’m an artist, and–”

“Where specifically are you living, now?” 

“Well, at the minute I’m in an apartment with my sister – you’ve met her, I think – Betty, she’s–”  _ Heavens, slow down.  _ “She’s rather popular ‘round here, or so I’ve heard.”

“Very. So do y–”

“Phillip!” Sounded a shrill voice from the other side of the door, cutting Dan off short. He grimaced, stepping back as the door swung open. “Phillip, come meet Mr. Johnson! Hey, mister!” Betty grabbed Phil’s arm, pulling him towards the ballroom with a kind of brute strength. 

Phil frowned for a split second, this expression being replaced with a kind of shock before he politely nodded goodbye at Dan and followed his sister from the balcony. 

Dan sighed, shook his head, threw back the remains of his champagne and closed his eyes. 

_ This was not what he’d planned for the night. _


	2. old lives, new dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan liked to consider himself quite adept at mistakes. Probably not a feat to be too proud of – but a feat nonetheless. And yes, maybe if he was more remorseful over his mistakes then he’d make a lot less of them, and maybe then he wouldn’t have been searching the crowds of the party for a certain artist by the name of Phillip Lester.

It was always a split-second decision, throwing a shindig like this one. A friend of a friend would ask Dan – “Mr. Howell, I don’t suppose another of your parties is happening tonight, hm?” – the answer was always yes. 

What didn’t cross Dan’s mind when these questions were asked, however, is how he’d occupy the entire night surrounded by people that he didn’t know, or care for. Without a doubt, each and every one of his gatherings ended with him locking his bedroom door and drinking more and more to drown out the sounds of the partygoers undoubtably wreaking havoc upon his house. On more than one occasion, he’d sworn by the early hours that this was the last party he’d throw in his own house, but is it  _ really  _ a mistake if you don’t repeat it?

 

Dan liked to consider himself quite adept at mistakes. Probably not a feat to be too proud of – but a feat nonetheless. And  _ yes,  _ maybe if he was more remorseful over his mistakes then he’d make a lot less of them, and  _ maybe  _ then he wouldn’t have been searching the crowds of the party for a certain artist by the name of Phillip Lester. 

He didn’t know what it was about this man, but something about him seemed  _ better  _ than the nameless faces that crowded his house. He was interesting without being annoying and he seemed like he cared about the right things. He didn’t seem like the kind of person to mix with the likes of Dan, he thought, and the people that Dan surrounds himself with. Perhaps Betty had been the one to drag him here, and he’d rather be at home, listening to a quiet jazz record, glass of rosé in hand. 

_ That makes two of us,  _ Dan thought. 

Dan heard Betty before he saw her, her shrill voice echoing down the hallway before he’d even turned the corner. Laughter bounced off the walls of the empty foyer and the ground thrummed with the music from the ballroom above them. 

“ _ Daniel!”  _ Betty all but squealed, acting as though it hadn’t been a matter of hours since she’d last saw him. She sprung up from the step on which she was perched, jumping around a little. Phil was sat on the step next to her, jumping a little as she bounced away before returning to his passive and seemingly bored state. “Daniel, meet Mr. Johnson,  _ my  _ Mr. Johnson! He’s a real charmer, see!”

Dan nodded with a passable smile, saying the usual stuff, acting as though he’s glad to see this man whose first name he couldn’t recall if he tried.  _ Well if it isn’t Mr. Johnson! Haven’t seen you since the Oxford days! How’s the business going?  _

Betty droned on and on some about shares that Mr. Johnson had bought, Dan nodding along all the while, well acquainted with the whole  _ act like you’re listening  _ façade. He took a moment to glance over towards the better part of Phil and Betty, who seemed like he wasn’t even trying to act like he was listening. Dan was still yet to reach that level of social apathy, he thought.

“Well, the three of us were just waiting for our ride, but I’m glad you came to wish me goodbye, the party was  _ swell _ ! And hey, I was wondering if you’d like to maybe throw another little party,  _ just for the two of us _ ,” She lowered her voice at the end, leaving Dan biting back a smirk.

“As much as I’d love to humour you by saying yes, I’m honestly not interested, Bethany.”

“You’re  _ joking,”  _ Her face dropped and her tone became a tad more sinister.

“Fraid not,” he shrugged, stepping away to leave the room. “Can’t blame you for trying, though.”

She grabbed his shoulder, shoving him slightly then. “I can’t believe you’d play with my feelings like that, y–” Phil cut her off, holding an arm out in front of her. 

“Bets, come on, our driver is probably here.” he said, voice low, trying to draw as little attention as possible; several partygoers near the door had stopped to look. 

“You should hear the things that people say about you, Mr. Howell! I didn’t think you really were that bastard that people say you are, but turns out you are!”

He laughed, stepping forward slightly, his grip on his drink tightened. He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in to Betty. “Tell me I’m a bastard all you want, I’m still not interested.”

“Betty, come on.” Phil said, grabbing Betty’s shoulder as she visibly tensed. She inhaled sharply and wrestled from Phil’s grip, grabbing her drink from the side table and splashing it around, aiming mostly for Dan’s face, but not really affecting anywhere but the ground. 

“I’ll see you around, then.” Dan nodded, motioning for a waiter to clean up the mess and nodding, glancing over at Phil and darting his eyes away the second they made contact, before turning on his heel and climbing the stairs. 

 

It was easier to forget about the party after that. With the door locked, champagne washed from his hair and record on, it was almost as if Dan was alone again. He’d usually hold more of a grudge against the kind of thing that happened tonight, but could barely bring himself to feel any kind of real anger. He’d seen worse. 

He finds himself thinking of Phil again, how he’d noticed that nervous glint that the artist had had in his eye during the whole ordeal; as if he hadn’t seen anything this exciting in a while. Dan remembered back to a life in the past where that kind of drama would have been as surprising as Phil had seemed to find it, feeling a kind of nostalgia for that quieter life that he once lived. 

He could pretend, however, that he was living that life now. A whiskey in his hand and music filling the room, the embers of a fire in the grate and the catastrophe of a party downstairs beginning to simmer down, he sat and listened to the music, wondering the kind of person he’d be if he lived this life that he imagined. 

_ Probably not the kind of person that got drinks thrown at them,  _ he chuckled quietly to himself.

Maybe he’d work in an office. He’d have an office and a freshly divorced ex-wife and maybe a stray cat that found its way into his apartment. He and his cat would spend the evenings sitting by the fire, and his main priority would be the Sunday morning news and what brand of tuna he was going to feed to the cat. 

He’d live his life not knowing how a ballroom looks in the rays of the early hours, partygoers passed out against the grand piano. He’d live his life without having seen floods of people in his driveway, pushing through a crowd to get into  _ his  _ house at  _ his  _ party. He’d live his life without knowing how it feels to be seduced by women and men who want him for his money or something else.

And after all of this, he isn’t really sure if he’d  _ enjoy  _ that life more than this one. 

He threw back what was left of his whiskey and closed his eyes, leaning back against the headboard. 

_ What a fucking life.  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are getting angsty for dan..... if only he had........ a lovely sunshine of a man to help him out with that........
> 
> anyways!! i'm going to be updating this on wednesday and saturday evenings (uk time) and we're looking at about 10 chapters + an epilogue just so you've got a vague idea on how long the story will be, if you're following along with the updates. if you're reading this fic in 2020 or something then this is your own roaring 20s get off ao3 and go have a gatsby style party ya losers
> 
>  
> 
> find me on twitter @dumbassphillie/tumblr @lonelymoonlite !


	3. hot night/cold breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil smiled, deciding that this is life. He let himself glance over towards Dan, who also had a faint smile decorating his face. Whether it was the liquid courage that he’d spent the night drinking, or the sheer perfection of the moment, Phil didn’t know, but something urged him to grab Dan’s hand and drag him along on an impromptu journey down the dark streets of London.

Phil didn’t wake up until noon the next day.

He thought he could handle his alcohol, he really did – but the pounding headache behind his eyes begged to differ. The bed groaned as he turned over, Phil wincing at the sudden noise drilling into his brain. 

As he pressed his face into the pillow, a reel of memories from last night flickered in Phil’s mind as he silently cringed about whatever he could remember doing. He knows that it calmed down around three; until the champagne incident, that is. He couldn’t help facepalming at that unfortunately vivid memory – he always knew that Betsy couldn’t handle her drink but she really outdid herself this time. _ London life has really gotten the better of her _ , he thought. 

The second-hand awkwardness of the situation didn’t fail to persist, even now. This made Phil’s silent cringing all the more present as he realised that he was probably the only one still thinking about it. Hell, the whole city had probably known about it only minutes after it had happened. Old news by now, surely. 

Maybe he was the only one who had been phased by it – nobody else had seemed bothered. He remembered noticing that Dan had had an expression on his face that was more inconvenienced; a face that said  _ my hair needs washing now, thank you very much for that. _

Phil tried not to think about Dan’s face too much, though. 

And  _ no,  _ he wasn’t  _ pining  _ over this rich acquaintance who had quarreled with his sister last night, he just– 

_ Maybe  _ Phil had had a couple of subconscious thoughts that maybe would’ve been deemed inappropriate by most. Nothing  _ graphic,  _ mind, but admiring the beauty of another man wasn’t appreciated by most men like Dan. 

_ Not that Dan would ever need to know.  _

Phil scalded himself mentally for being like that, even in his head.  _ Oh, Lester, get a damn grip. You barely know the man. _

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of the doorbell ringing, wincing at the shrill sound as it echoed down the hall. He didn’t move until the second ring, shouting some remark at Betty for her being too lazy to answer her own door. When she didn’t reply, he glanced around her door to see an empty bed, sighing. Maybe one day she’ll think to leave a note before leaving on a spontaneous quest.  _ She’s probably gone to another party already,  _ Phil thought. 

He jogged down the stairs and heaved open the heavy door, expecting to see the postman or a preacher, or  _ anyone  _ but Dan Howell himself. 

“Wh-  _ oh.  _ Morning, um.” There was a second or two of awkwardness. “Betty’s not in right now, she’s… Out.” 

“Ah, okay.” Dan said, not moving or even showing any sign that he was ready to leave. 

“Okay.”

“Okay. Y-”

“I’ll tell her you called ‘round.”

“Splendid. I j-”

“I- You first.” Phil said, hoping that he wasn’t grimacing too visibly at the horrible awkwardness in the air. 

“I just called around to apologise to your sister for last night. My intention wasn’t to upset her, I just wanted to clear that up.” He spoke as if he’d rehearsed what to say. 

“I’ll let her know.” Phil smiled politely.  _ Now would be a great time to leave. _

“I appreciate it.”  _ Why hasn’t he left yet? _

“Do you, uh- want to come in for a cuppa?”  _ Why. _

“I suppose so,”  _ Oh dear God. _

Phil stepped back, motioning for Dan to come in. He hoped that Dan wouldn’t notice the tattered pajamas that he was still wearing past noon, or the dusty floorboards or the unwashed glasses on the table. 

“Lovely apartment. It’s very.. Quaint.” His voice was flat.

“Thank you. Well, uh- it’s my sister’s, really. I’m just here until I find my own place.” Phil turned his back from the conversation, searching through the cabinets for tea. “ _ Christ, we’ve run out of tea already,”  _ He cursed under his breath, almost forgetting of his company.

“Sorry?”

“Oh, we- there’s no tea left.” Phil was almost certain that his face was reddening behind his glasses and he hoped that it was unnoticeable. 

“Don’t look so embarrassed, for crying out loud, it’s just  _ tea.  _ Why, couldn’t we just go out for tea?”

“Now?”

“Of course. Go make yourself presentable, go, I’ll wait.” He said it with such irrefutability that Phil didn’t bother saying another word after that.

It was decidedly less uncomfortable once they’d left the house; the air of awkwardness between them had seemed to evaporate, even if just a  _ bit  _ and there was less tension in their conversations. Admittedly, Phil was still baffled somewhere in the back of his mind that Dan would voluntarily spend time with  _ him  _ when he clearly had a multitude of friends who were richer, better, and  _ probably  _ more socially adept than Phil, but he decided that he’d mull over that later. 

For now, though, he decided that it’d be entirely appropriate to act as if he was as important as Dan, even just for a while. Dan drove a car, impressively. Phil probably would’ve assumed that he just got a dusty old chauffeur to drive him wherever, but he was proved wrong when Dan climbed into a, presumably high-end car. (Not that Phil could say for certain. It was fast and it was shiny but that was more or less the extent of Phil’s car knowledge.)

“So you say you’re an artist, hm?” Dan asked, taking his eyes from the road for a second. 

“Well- up and coming, I suppose. I’m just out of art school, you see-”

“Art school where?” Dan asked, sounding surprisingly and genuinely curious. 

“Manchester.”

“Ah, I see. I’m an Oxford graduate, myself, not that it’s come to much use, if I’m honest with you. My father encouraged me to go as some kind of family tradition but I just say it was quite a waste of time.” 

“You know, Mr. Howell, I’ve never met a single person who’d say that an Oxford education was a  _ waste of time _ .” Phil said, faintly amused. He looked over to Dan, studying his side profile until Dan glanced over and Phil was forced to sheepishly avert his gaze. 

“Don’t be a fool, call me  _ Dan.”  _ he replied, not addressing the second part of Phil’s comment,

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who’d enjoy being on first name basis with the likes of me.”

“I’m on first name basis with  _ everybody,  _ Phillip. I don’t have a choice.”

“I thought that your people would be accustomed to formal titles and all that jazz,”

“Ugh, don’t call them that.”

“What?”

“ _ My  _ people. They’re not  _ mine.”  _ he muttered, gesturing his hand as if motioning towards the vague  _ they  _ that the two of them spoke of.

“You know what I mean- your friends, and–”

“Wouldn’t call them  _ that _ , either.”

“But y–” Dan cut him off then.

“When did we start talking about me, anyway? You’re an artist, clearly far more of an interesting person than I’m used to.”

“I’m not  _ interesting _ , I mean– where are we actually  _ going?” _

“To grab a drink or two. I know a place, don’t worry.”

“What makes you think I have the kind of money to go to  _ your  _ kind of bar?” Phil protested, hoping that he didn’t come across as too rude. 

“I can pay,” 

“No you may  _ not,”  _ Phil said, whipping his head around to face Dan. “I’m not a mistress that you’re trying to woo, y’know!” 

Both of the men pretended not to notice Dan’s slight blush. 

“I don’t see the problem, nobody else has had a problem with this before, you know? It’s not a huge deal, it’s just a  _ drink!” _

“I’d like to buy my own drinks, if you don’t mind.” Phil said, relaxing a little. 

“Whatever. If you change your mind,” he trailed off. “Where did you have in mind?”

 

Dan maybe had to make an effort to keep himself from frowning when he parked outside the building. 

It was.. Small. Not awful, but. Probably not somewhere he’d enjoy going for a drink. 

“What’s eating  _ you?”  _ Phil asked, noticing the expression on Dan’s face as they entered the building. It seemed like a house from the outside, a relatively mundane building, but the inside seemed to be a small art gallery. 

“Nothing, I’ve um– never seen a speakeasy art gallery. Very interesting.” 

“Not good enough for ya? It’s gotta be fit for a king before Daniel Howell steps foot in it, I forgot, my apologies, good sir.” Phil said, a faint smile playing on his lips. 

Dan raised his eyebrows after a few seconds, realising that he was being made fun of. He wasn’t sure what to say. “I only drink whiskey from glasses carved from the angels themselves, don’t you know?” He shot back, following Phil to the far end of the room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to somebody like this. It was fun.

Phil tapped a couple of times on the back wall, before a hatch slid open and someone looked out. The hatch closed again, and after the rattle of a lock, a door was revealed in the wall. Dan nodded, somewhat impressed at the place. 

As if the gates of Hell themselves had opened, a wave of warm air ascended from the bar below the stairs. There was music being blasted and the stale smell of alcohol arose in the air despite it barely being dinner time. 

“Afternoon, Phillip. Who’s this you got?” said the voice of the bouncer as he stepped aside, motioning for the two to enter. 

“This is Daniel Howell, he’s a friend of Betsy’s” Dan nodded politely, offering a hand to shake. 

“Quite posh, eh?” the bouncer asked, shaking his hand firmly anyway. “You’re not the one with that massive house on the outskirts, are you?” 

“Ah, that would be me.” Dan said, his voice being carried away by the music. 

“You’ve always been a golddigger, ain’t ya, Phil?” The bouncer laughed, and the two chuckled along quietly. “Go on, I won’t keep ya.”

Neither of the two tried to think too much about that last comment, instead silently electing to ignore it in favour of an awkward silence accompanied with a mumble of  _ we’ll sit over there, shall we? _

 

Day drinking was, admittedly, a choice that Phil was a stranger to, being someone who had barely touched alcohol since he was sixteen and stealing his father’s ale from the cellar. Since he’d moved to London, however, he’d been very much swayed in a more reckless direction, for which he had Betty to thank. 

And here he was now, spending the better part of the afternoon having barely recovered from the previous night, and already drinking again in a speakeasy thrumming with the bohemians that he’d chosen to surround himself with.  _ And Dan.  _

Many more times Dan had tried to pay for Phil’s drinks, despite the fact that they were  _ significantly  _ cheaper than what Dan was used to – and noticeable stronger, too. He’d often come out with something as bold as “ _ I couldn’t name a single person who wouldn’t let me buy them a drink, you know?”,  _ but seemed to decide against that once Phil had shot back something equally as audacious. 

The next few hours seemed to go by in a blue, neither of the two knowing whether it was because of the alcohol in their system or if time really  _ does  _ fly when you’re having fun. And that was what shocked Phil – Dan really did seem to be having a good time. By no means was the evening as civilised as many would expect he’d be used to; which, to him, was all the better. The cocktail of genuine laughter, kind people and perhaps another certain person seemed to be what made the night for the both of them.

The day played out quicker and quicker – songs bleeding into one another and a  _ very  _ lost track of their drink count, but in any case, midnight arrived before they knew it and there was a new life to the club that neither of them had seen before. 

Every minute a new flood of partygoers would arrive until the bar bore a kind of resemblance to the Howell estate; only with more smiling faces and obvious joy in place of artificial personalities and stale gossip. There came a point where the surroundings were too loud to talk, and too upbeat to think, and so the two shared a look that could only mean  _ let’s leave now. _

As they were pushed from the masses near the door and into the cold night where their breath drew patterns in the air before them, Phil smiled, deciding that  _ this is life.  _ He let himself glance over towards Dan, who also had a faint smile decorating his face.  Whether it was the liquid courage that he’d spent the night drinking, or the sheer perfection of the moment, Phil didn’t know, but something urged him to grab Dan’s hand and drag him along on an impromptu journey down the dark streets of London. 

“Where are we  _ going? _ ” Dan asked, following along sluggishly in spite of the weight of each limb as he walked. 

“On an adventure.”

“To where?”

“I don’t  _ know!  _ That’s the point of an adventure, isn’t it?” Dan hummed, before snorting with laughter at nothing in particular. 

“I enjoy your company, Phil.” 

“Fabulous.” Phil replied, seeming more engrossed in the stars above his head that had made an appearance for once, with the night being darker than usual. 

“I’m not a huge fan of people, but I could make an exception for you.” His words had a slight slur to them, and laughter behind them as though he wasn’t sure whether or not to take himself seriously. “I enjoyed tonight.”

“Me too.” Phil nodded. His face broke into a smile again, the truest expression of joy that Dan had seen in a while. “Come on!” 

He began to run, and he was pulling Dan along and they were both running through the streets as if they were children again; and if there were people around then they didn’t even care, because this was  _ it,  _ this was life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good friends!! just two bros! chilling in london! one feet apart because   
> um
> 
> anyways  
> a slightly longer chapter tonight! also it's phil-centric which is new! 
> 
> and im not gonna spoil anything rn but enjoy this kind of fun while it lasts :)
> 
> twitter @dumbassphillie  
> tumblr @lonelymoonlite


	4. my telltale heart's a hammer in my chest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling more than slightly woozy, Dan pushed himself from the wall and towards the road from whence they’d came. There was something in the back of his mind that was persistently harassing his every thought, but he chose to push it aside, ever a devotee of the idea that ignorance truly is bliss.

Drinking really is more fun as it’s happening. Not so much when the effects begin to wear off. Of all things,  _ this  _ is what was running through Dan’s mind as he was trying to catch his breath, propped up on a wall next to the only person who’d ever  _ really  _ noticed him in the crowd.

Feeling more than slightly woozy, Dan pushed himself from the wall and towards the road from whence they’d came. There was something in the back of his mind that was persistently harassing his every thought, but he chose to push it aside, ever a devotee of the idea that ignorance truly is bliss.

The streets were nowhere near deserted, but felt emptier than they had all night, the atmosphere quiet and almost muffled as if everybody around was keeping to their own. 

“You’re not wanting to go home just yet, are you?” Phil asked, breaking the silence between them as they started down the street. 

“Not if you don’t want to.” Dan replied, focusing his gaze on the stars of light before him. He was distracted by the twinkling of the streetlights, and Phil, in turn, was distracted by something else.  _ Someone,  _ and the way the light illuminated him, giving to him a new life that most couldn’t notice. 

“I want to stay out all night.” 

“With  _ me? _ ” Dan turned his face from the street ahead, turned to look at Phil. Phil, who seemed to glow brighter than any lantern could.  _ I’ll have to think about that another time. _

“With you.” Phil nodded. “I chose the last place. Is there anywhere you’d like to go?” 

“Well, you’ve shown me your corner of the city, so I suppose it’s only fair that I show you mine.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person to mill around London a lot.”

“You don’t  _ actually  _ know me, y’know?”

“I know. I’d like to consider you a friend, though.”

“Are you forgetting that we’ve known each other for only a day or so?”

“Who said you can’t be friends with someone that you’ve just met?”

“I don’t have  _ friends.  _ I have people I know. And people I talk to.” 

“And let me guess – you talk to these people, and you know these people and you throw your money at them and they say  _ why thank you, Mr. Howell,  _ and you do this in exchange for them sitting at a table with you while you chat about the weather. Or you fill your house with these people and offer them glasses of expensive champagne that they can’t afford to buy for themselves and you mention your suit jacket that cost more than their car and as if by magic, they want to be with you  _ all  _ the time. Maybe  _ that’s  _ why you don’t have friends.”

And then, Dan should have been angry. He should’ve turned around and walked away. And he so badly wanted to, but somehow he  _ couldn’t.  _

“I didn’t  _ ask  _ for your opinion.”

Phil shrugged, unsure of what to say. He let the tension in the air grow thicker by the second. 

“I could be friends with any soul in this damned city, but I’ve chosen to be out here at an ungodly hour with  _ you,  _ so I say you just stop trying to analyse me, and do what we came out here to do: drink and have a good time. Or at least  _ pretend  _ to, if that works better for you,  _ sir.” _

“Is that something you do a lot?  _ Pretend  _ to have a good time?”

“It’s better than my first option.”

“What’d that be?”

“Not even turning up to begin with.” 

“You’re a strange man, y’know?”

“Almost as strange as you are. I didn’t ask for an analysis, anyhow. There’s a casino nearby.”

“ _ Gambling?” _

“Not usually.”

“Why else would you be at a casino?”

“I enjoy the atmosphere.”

“ _ Strange,”  _ Phil whispered, almost too quietly to really be heard. 

They walked in what could be best described as a comfortable silence – notably, one that lacked the awkwardness that one would expect following a conversation that had stemmed from a series of insults. The streets around them grew to be less sparse as they weaved through the maze of London from the mess of smaller buildings to the more lavish landscape that the upper classes called home.  

There was a notion in the back of Phil’s mind that refused to leave him be – a strong feeling that could only be described as being out of place. And  _ yes,  _ with his somewhat clean cut look, passable suit and infamous company, he could probably pass as someone who belongs in this part of the city. In the early hours of the morning, the lanterns beginning to sputter out, he doubted that many people but himself really cared; yet his mind simply refused to let him forget. 

By the time the two of them had finally arrived at the casino, the night had admittedly begun to catch up on Phil, the sleepless hours piling atop him. Had he spent the night alone, he would’ve turned in hours beforehand, but something in him wasn’t mad about the decision that’d overruled his good night’s sleep.

“We’re not g’na play cards, no?” Phil asked, taking a small sip of whiskey from Dan’s glass and scrunching his face in recoil.

“That’d pose to be quite a challenge, since I haven’t a clue how to.”

Dan snatched back the glass. 

“I don’t believe that for a  _ second.” _

“Well they didn’t exactly cover the subject at boarding school, did they? And my father never really bothered with things like… Anyway – I’ve never been a huge fan of gambling. Seems like a fast way to lose money to someone who doesn’t need it.” 

Phil silently elected to ignore the distinctly  _ un- _ subtle shift in conversation there. 

“I’ll teach you one day. I’ve been taught just about every gard game in the book – gambling, drinking games or otherwise.” Dan nodded, a silent motion for him to elaborate. Phil, oddly taken aback, continued. “We had a lot of free time as kids, y’know, and there were a lot of us around. There was a shop down the road that we’d go in, to nick a fresh pack of cards whenever the old one was getting a bit tatty.” Phil said, chuckling quietly at the distant memory. “Sorry, don’t know why I’m telling you this.” Phil laughed, sheepishly, his ears turning pink.

_ Tell the millionaire how you spent your youth as a thief, nice one, Lester. _

“No, no, it’s fine.” Dan laughed, and to Phil’s shock, it sounded rather genuine. “It’s endearing. I’d bet anything that my childhood is pale in comparison.”

“I’m sure you’ve at least  _ one  _ outrageous anecdote from your younger years?”

“How about the time that I threw a rock through my own parents’ window? Is that outrageous enough?”

“ _ Absolutely.  _ Tell me more.” Phil turned to fully face Dan then, seeming much more attentive now that a scandalous story was on offer. 

“So my family were never too–  _ attentive,  _ shall we say – so save for Sunday afternoons, I was more or less free to run amok; at boarding school or on the grounds of my family home. And twelve-year-olds usually don’t bode well with that kind of freedom, as you can possibly imagine. So one holiday, I’m fooling around near the house, bored out of my mind and can hear my parents with raised voices from the parlour. And it seems like they’re shouting at  _ each other,  _ so naturally I do what any other well-educated young lad would–” Phil snorted. “And absolutely  _ hurtled  _ a decorative rock right through the glass.”

“Did it work?”

“It stopped them from screaming at each other, so  _ yes,” _

“And you didn’t get in any kind of trouble?” 

“Of  _ course  _ I did! Not that I gave a rat’s arse about that at the time. It was hilarious to me at the time, so I barely gave a damn.”

“And I suppose your parents look back on it and laugh?” 

There was a pause then, before Dan took another, larger sip of whiskey. “Yes, quite.”

The silence grew, though the crowd around them was loud – less sophisticated and more boisterous than Phil would’ve liked to expect from these kinds of people. 

“Listen–” Phil began, at the same time that Dan said “Ok, I was thinking–”, before they both stopped in their tracks. 

“You first,” Phil said, nodding in what he hoped was a polite fashion.

“I just wanted to say that I was thinking of throwing another little shindig this weekend, and was wondering if you’d like to come. I’d like to maybe throw a slightly  _ smaller  _ party, but I can’t make any promises if the usual crowds as of late have been anything to go by,”

“ _ Jesus Christ,  _ do you never get  _ tired?”  _

Dan laughed breathily in response. 

“I mean  _ really,  _ we’ve been on the town today since the early afternoon, drinking cocktails for lunch and spending the night dancing surrounded by shouting, sweating strangers in a packed club and we’re  _ still  _ out and  _ still  _ drinking and I’ve been trying to keep up with you all day and I’m a  _ hundred  _ percent convinced that I’m sweating out alcohol at this point.”

“What a lightweight you must be, Lester. It might surprise you that I’m considered tame by some.”

“I would  _ not  _ like to be friends with those people, I must say.”

“If you’re so tired, you don’t have to stay out for longer. I can get you a ride home,”

“No, no, I’ll walk. The cab to my place is too long for my liking – I get slightly nauseous in cabs at the best of times, and this is  _ not  _ one of those times.”

“Well then, you could crash in one of my guest apartments. My house isn’t too far.” 

“Honestly, I don’t mind the–”

“Oh, you needn’t be so  _ polite  _ all the time. Come on. You look shattered.”

And Phil, with the last of his good judgement, followed behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♫ a sleepless night with phil ♫
> 
> im tired so i cant structure a good end note here uhhhh  
> sorry this took so long!! i had some pretty gnarly writer's block but i'm back on track (for now) (hopefully)
> 
> as always, leave kudos and comments if you're enjoying my story so far !! <3
> 
> twitter -- @dumbassphillie


	5. revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hazy memories of the previous night’s events flashed behind Phil’s eyes like a forgotten movie, his brain choosing to leave the blanks of what he was too tired to remember. Memories of day drinking and clumsy dancing and time going backwards in a crowded casino, watching others deal their money in lieu of joining in, trading stories with a new friend as if he was the most familiar person on the planet, and – Dan. He was in Dan’s house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning -- there is some internalised homophobia in this chapter, and the f// slur is used, just a heads up !

The previous night hanging heavily over Phil came as no surprise to him; though what  _ did  _ come as a surprise was waking up in an astoundingly unfamiliar bed, in a room that he’d never seen. The light shone through the window, a dull and persistent stabbing at his eyes until he buried his head into the pillow again. 

Hazy memories of the previous night’s events flashed behind Phil’s eyes like a forgotten movie, his brain choosing to leave the blanks of what he was too tired to remember. Memories of day drinking and clumsy dancing and time going backwards in a crowded casino, watching others deal their money in lieu of joining in, trading stories with a new friend as if he was the most familiar person on the planet, and  –  _ Dan _ . He was in Dan’s house. 

Footsteps sounded on each floor of the house, the staff of the grounds busying themselves with whatever it was that the rich and fortunate needed help in. Upon further inspection of his surroundings, Phil noticed a glass of water and a note on the table beside the bed. In a messy and smudged script was written:

_ Not home right now. Help yourself to breakfast. - Dan _

Phil found himself wondering where Dan could’ve gotten off to so early on a Sunday morning, but pushed the question aside when he remembered that he shouldn’t care about these kinds of things as much as he wants to. He forced down some water, though his stomach churned at the mere thought of breakfast and he had to silently will the water to stay down when he heaved himself out of bed. 

Rather than sticking around to await Dan’s return, or make small talk with his staff, Phil quickly chose to make himself scarce, lest he be forced into one of the awkward encounters that he was all too familiar with. He was already in his day outfit – apparently he’d ended the night too foxed to seek out night clothes – so he pulled on his shoes and tried to leave the house quietly. He nodded politely towards a butler on the landing that he’d happened to make unfortunate eye contact with as he tripped over the threshold of the bedroom, and only hoped that the staff knew of the horribly clumsy stranger lodging in Mr. Howell’s guest apartments. 

 

Dan’s morning had likely been comparable to Phil’s – the only difference being his lack of sleep past the crack of dawn. He awoke with a mouth so dry that it felt as though it could shatter with the slightest movement, and a head heavy with a dull ache and something else.

He needed to get out of the house; the four walls seemed small and stuffy and it was one of those days where life felt sickly and sticky, like you had to push through time to make it go by. He threw on yesterday’s outfit, which had been thrown to the foot of the bed in last night’s tired and drunken haze, and started for the door, turning round at the porch only to scrawl out a note to his visitor.

_ His visitor.  _

This man he barely knew, likely fast asleep in a guest room, the only man who’d chosen to call himself a friend of Dan’s – who was also the man that Dan may have been running from. 

“Leave this in the guest quarters for me, would you? Be discrete about it, my friend there is still abed.” he said, sharply handing the note to one of his maids. “Leave a glass of water with it too.”

Dan would’ve done it himself – it seemed like the kind of mundane task that he would never bother paying somebody else to do; it’d take a minute and a half at most. And it’d almost definitely be a kinder gesture if it was he himself who’d done the favour – but that was half of the problem. That, and that Dan didn’t want to assign himself the hefty task of entering Phil’s sleeping quarters uninvited and unexpected, especially with his current state of mind. 

Or maybe he had a tendency to overthink everything. Maybe he had a habit, a  _ talent _ of meticulously pulling everything apart like spun sugar, finding the bad side, making sweet into sour and making the nonexistent become prominent. 

_ Easily the least impressive talent owned by anyone,  _ Dan thought, hauling himself out of bed with a level of reluctance that was almost impressive. He had to get out of this room, out of this house, he had to get away for awhile. He wouldn’t admit it, but he had to get away from  _ Phil.  _

Though the previous nights had been somewhat blurred to him, Dan had realised at some point something he wished he hadn’t. Something that was not enough to change a life, but just enough to force him to toss and turn and cringe whenever his eyes closed for the night. Something that forged walls around him and this man that he so badly wanted to call a friend; that pushed him away at even the smallest acknowledgement of a partnership between the two. 

And it’s not world breaking – the idea of harboring a fondness for a friend that goes beyond platonic, it’s not unheard of. It’s not a crisis, and it’s understandable to most. But throw two men into the equation? All becomes too much to handle. 

Dan Howell, he’d been perfectly normal his whole life. Had grown up in a respectable family, attending church every Sunday and had been raised with the idea that fags are sinners and that he shouldn’t associate with them, and  _ yet.  _ Yet he’d awoken to the desire that maybe he’d like to do a little more than talking with Phil. 

And if it doesn’t turn his stomach to think of that – then what does it say about him? He was  _ normal,  _ and always had been. 

“Fuck,” Dan whispered, to nobody in particular, gathering his thoughts before rushing to leave. 

He couldn’t get out of the house fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi ! so this is kind of a filler chapter i guess, it's also very short so i apologise for that!! the story will be moving on a lot more in the next chapter (and i mean a LOT) 
> 
> stay tuned, phan ease
> 
> twt: @dumbassphillie

**Author's Note:**

> make sure to leave kudos and comments if u enjoy the story so far! <3 
> 
> twitter: @dumbassphillie


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